"I'm looking for Clarence Adamson." Mo went back down the stairs. "He lives here, doesn't he?"

"Yes, he does. I'm his landlady, Mrs. Truesberry." When Mrs. Truesberry removed her hat Mo noted that sixties was probably a conservative estimate of her age. The lady now appeared to be in her seventies, but instead of the white hair one would have expected, the gardener had Mountain Dew-colored hair. "Clarence isn't in right now. I saw him go out about an hour ago."

Ross emerged from the car and then loped toward them.

"Do you know where he might have gone?" Mo prompted.

"I wouldn't want to say. I'm no busybody and I'm certainly no gossip." She stared curiously at Ross as he approached. "Do I know you?"

"No," he said with a frown.

"You look very familiar," the landlady continued.

"I get that a lot." Ross put on his sungla.s.ses even though a bank of clouds obscured the sun.

"Are you sure we haven't met?"

"I would definitely remember if we had," he remarked.

"Oh, aren't you sweet," Mrs. Truesberry t.i.ttered.

Mo doubted Ross had meant the comment that way. "About Clarence," Mo said. "He wasn't sick or anything was he?"

"Oh no. Nothing like that. The dear boy seemed to feel just fine."

"Did the dear boy tell you where he was going?" Ross asked.

"Yes." She nodded, but then shook her head. "Well, not exactly."

This conversation was worse than pulling teeth from a flea. "Where did he say he was going?"

"I wouldn't want to say anything I shouldn't," Mrs. Truesberry hedged. She glanced back at the house as if she was hoping something would give her an excuse to escape them.

"It's all right to tell me," Mo a.s.sured her.

"Are you his girlfriend?" Mrs. Truesberry asked with a surprisingly acidic tone. "He said he didn't have a girlfriend. He knows I don't allow them in the apartments."

"No, I'm not his girlfriend. I work with Clarence. Our boss was worried when he didn't come into work today."

At the word "work", the landlady smiled. "You mean Incredible Love? That must be so exciting." Mrs. Truesberry clapped her glove-covered hands together enthusiastically. "While you're here maybe you could give me some advice. I have a problem with my husband that I've been meaning to come in and speak to you about. You see, we haven't had s.e.x in six months and nine days. He never seems to want to. Since we used to have s.e.x at least once a day I'm sure he must be cheating. It's not as if I don't keep myself hip. I even have a tattoo-a tramp stamp. It's so cute. It's this little heart and it's right at the top of my-"

"Mrs. Truesberry?" Mo tried to interrupt.

"There's this widow who lives around the corner. I think she's the one he's boinking."

"Mrs. Truesberry, can we please get back to Clarence?" Ross asked, impatiently.

Mo was with him on that one. The ick factor of the mental picture of Mrs. Truesberry and her husband engaged in...shudders.

"Well, all right," Mrs. Truesberry huffed. "Clarence left here dressed in his costume. He's always extra handsome when he wears it. I suppose he was going somewhere to use his costume."

"Costume?" What in the watermelon could the woman be talking about?

"Clarence likes to dress up as a character. Then he goes places to pretend he is really that person."

"His character? Is he an actor?" Ross asked, pushing the gla.s.ses up to the top of his head. His eyes searched the landlady's face.

"Not exactly but..." Mrs. Truesberry paused for a moment before continuing, "I think I know where he must have gone."

They waited for a few beats, but she didn't continue.

"Yes? Where?" Mo asked.

"That movie convention he's been talking about for at least a month. The one over at that center across the river."

"I know Clarence is a film student. Did one of his professors give him an a.s.signment?" Mo couldn't wrap her mind around all this information.

"Maybe, but that school shouldn't let him do it. I've told him it's dangerous." The landlady's brows converged in a frown. "Oh, that's so disappointing. Clarence said he would take me with him to the convention."

The woman was so scattered, Mo wanted to tear out her eyebrows. Ross stood rigid with irritation. "Dangerous? What's dangerous?"

"He goes around carrying that big pretend gun. Someday is gonna think it's real and shoot that boy."

Uh oh. "What character is Clarence pretending to be?" Mo asked even though she wasn't certain she wanted the answer.

"Oh that super spy. What was his name again?"

"Stephen Dagger?" Ross supplied dryly.

"That's right. How did you know?" Mrs. Truesberry grinned.

"Just a wild guess."

Chapter Seven.

"I can't believe it," Mo said.

Clarence seemed to be at the heart of their problems. But it was so hard to comprehend. The receptionist had always been just the agency's comic relief. Could he have gotten mixed up with dangerous thugs?

"Believe it." Ross pulled the car to a stop at a red light. "Which way to this convention place?"

"Turn left at the next light." Mo shook her head as if it would clear away the confusion. "I mean I just can't believe it."

"Would you please stop saying that?"

"I can't."

Ross made a production of turning his head so he could glare at her.

"Well, I can't. For one thing, Clarence couldn't have been more than ten years old when your movie came out."

"Thanks," Ross said wryly. The light turned green, allowing him to drive the car forward again.

"Not that you're old." Mo smiled.

He turned the car onto the street that would lead them over the Talmadge Bridge. "You're making me feel ever so much better."

"You know, they say fifty is the new thirty."

"I'm only forty."

"Really?" Mo tried to sound naive, even as she suppressed a chuckle. He was so fun to tease. She relented at his sour expression. "Oh come on, you know you're devastatingly attractive."

He grinned "Do you really think so?"

"Yes, and you look younger than your age. You don't look a day over ... thirty-nine."

A laugh broke from Ross. "You are a brat, aren't you? If I wasn't driving this car I'd-"

Mo felt goose b.u.mps creep up her body as she waited for him to finish. But she was never to hear the end of that provocative threat.The trill of her cell phone ringer interrupted his words.

"The Love Boat theme?" Ross chuckled.

For once Mo found the cell phone at the top of the junk pile that was the contents of her purse.

"Yeah, just my little job related joke." Looking at the caller I.D. she frowned. "Oh pickles, it's Harry."

Harry didn't wait for a greeting. "Mo, you missed your meeting with that new client."

"s.h.i.take." Mo looked at her watch: 2:30 p.m. "I'm sorry, Harry. Can you reschedule? I was following up on Clarence and... it's a long story."

"Don't tell me it's going to get us bad publicity or-worse yet-sued? I'd fire you for real." Harriet's voice was loud enough to carry out of the phone and was audible inside the car.

"h.e.l.lo, Harry," Ross called to her from the driver's seat.

"Who's that with you? As if I didn't already know," Harry muttered. "I suppose he knows about my little performance earlier."

"Yes, but everything is fine. He's hired me to do an investigation." Mo glanced apologetically at Ross. If there was anything that would distract Harry it was the idea of a paying client.

"Really?" her boss asked gleefully. "How's it going?"

"Okay. Except we've got this horrible reporter, Stewart Milton, hounding us."

"You can provide the details later," Harry a.s.sured her. "I'll handle the new client."

"Great." Mo would rather stay with Ross...because of business of course.

"But there's a price." Mo heard the merriment in Harry's voice even over the cell phone towers.

"Oh no! Not that."

"Yes. You have to watch one episode of Survival and talk about it with me for at least ten minutes."

Mo groaned. "No. That's too cruel. I thought you were my friend."

"I am. But I'm also your boss and your boss wants you to watch Survival."

"And my friend?"

"Your friend wants you to enjoy watching it."

"Yeah, right," Mo groused.

"You have fun with the super spy, honey," Harriet teased. "But don't get us sued." This time she was serious.

Mo was silent when she hung up. How was she going to explain her harebrained claim to Ross? She didn't know what had led her to tell such a flaming lie to Harry. Mo realized that somewhere during the conversation with Harriet she had become afraid that her boss would order her to abandon the Clarence thing and meet with the new client. Mo had said the first thing that had come to mind that would allow her to stay with Ross for a little longer. Bananas.

The car was almost over the bridge now. "Turn right when you get to the bottom," she said.

"What was all that about?" Ross asked.

"Harry loves reality shows. She just can't find anyone she can talk to about them. Anyway, it's ridiculous. Don't worry. I've survived episodes of Survival before. I can do it again," she a.s.sured him.

There was silence in the car. Neato. Ross had totally missed that comment about him hiring her for an investigation.

"So I've hired you for an investigation?" Ross asked with a quirk to his lips. He really seemed pleased. "Well, I suppose I'll just consider it as something along the lines of the old saying: keep your friends close and your enemies...in a dog house where they belong."

She laughed.

"All right then," Ross continued. "I suppose being the client affords me certain privileges. Naturally, I give the orders. Oh yes, I'm fairly certain that I'm going to enjoy this."

She'd created a monster.

The convention center's parking lot came into view and was a veritable sea of vehicles. Ross parked the Mercedes as far from any other car as was possible which meant a long hike into the building.

They scanned the crowd in front of them.

"How on earth are we going to find your Clarence in this mob? I don't even know what the bloke looks like."

"Fortunately, I have connections," Mo replied.